Fledgling
by x-butterflykisses-x
Summary: This was his city, he was Gotham born and raised, the grime ran thick in his veins and he felt the streets laboured breaths. One man's beginnings as Gotham's latest defender and it's a journey that John Blake need not take alone.
1. First Watch

"_Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come._"

– A Song of Ice and Fire, George RR Martin

The suit felt alien to him, awkward and uncomfortable, a stark reminder that he was wearing a dead man's skin. Flexing his gloved hand he tried to rein in his thoughts, he was done with thinking, done with training; he just had to do it. Take the leap. Jump into the unknown and pray that he'd come out the other side.

Gotham's streets were below him and the sky above was dark as pitch, the lights from the city having snuffed out the stars. The yellow glows surrounding him were bright and flickering, as if every soul in the great metropolis was winking at him. Working his finger in between his neck and the thick rubber Blake swallowed heavily. This was his city, he was Gotham born and raised, the grime ran thick in his veins and he felt the streets laboured breaths. The screams and cries sounded out tenfold now that he wore the suit.

But he knew this wasn't about glory; this wasn't about getting the girl or anything as trite as the commonplace notions surrounding superheroes. This was about saving the city and with her rescue he might find his own salvation. Bruce before him had pulled he city from the abyss, and for a time they had all danced precariously on the edge. But with each step they teetered further, and every day somebody fell. Fell into crime and drugs, but sometimes it was the shadowy arms of Death that cushioned their fall.

But now he would try to catch them and pull them back from the darkness. He was the last bastion, their last and staunchest defender. He had to be, there was no one else.

The hot stink of the Narrows rose up to great him. Windows were flung open as washing hung limply on the lines strung between the bending buildings. The air around him was close; strains of the late night news broadcast could just be heard drifting up from the many apartments crammed into the decaying buildings.

The cloak buffeted about his legs as a rare gust of wind shot past him, the cooler air a welcome relief across his hot skin. This was his first watch, and he knew for now he would have no relief. Falling back from the side of the building he slowly walked to the edge, the drop below him not very far but his stomach turned at the sight of it. He knew that the worst of what he had to face waited for him at the bottom.

It was then that he heard it. A scream. It pierced through the air, cutting through the Kevlar and armour. He felt it strike his heart and for a moment he could barely breathe.

Terror like he had never felt before gripped him. Firing his police issued gun for the first time was nothing compared to this. Walking towards oncoming bullets and been easy. This was different. This was like graduation day; he had said the words now he had to prove himself.

It was now or never. He hadn't dressed up as a giant bat to walk about the rooftops pretending to be a particularly large and ugly gargoyle. He wasn't there for decoration – a token vigilante. With every second he waited the danger increased. He had to stop thinking; he had to push aside the fear. For he was the night, dressed in shadow and legend his herald.

Taking a running jump he flew off the building, the cape fluttering out behind him, catching what little wind there was to keep him afloat. Hitting the ground he winced, this ankles taking a heavy blow. Next time he'd bandage them up

Glancing to his right he once again bit back a curse – the mask obscured his vision. He would have to adjust. Shaking off the niggling thoughts Blake ran towards the scream. Another one came and just as before it cut clean through him.

She was young, about 15. A brown paper bag was at her feet; a bottle of cough medicine few feet away was crushed under foot. Sobbing the girl pressed up against the crumbling brick, her shoes scuffing against the ground as she desperately tired to push herself into the mortar.

"You going to give him a look under that blouse girly?"

The man's voice was rough, his hands heavily scarred as he waved a cruel looking switchblade just under the girl's nose. Her breathing was ragged now, her eyes darting about wildly, tears streaking her face as she shook her head in defiance.

"You're not going to fight me are you?"

The girl didn't say anything, her eyes instead closing, more hot tears forcing their way through her eyelashes. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

Thankfully the man was too engrossed in his current activities, and for that Blake was grateful. He needed to be faster in future but Blake just managed to wrap both his arms around the man before the knife cut a red line across the girl's skin.

With a small grunt Blake wrenched the man backwards, before slamming him bodily into the wall. Yanking the attacker up by this worn collar Blake clenched his fist and drove it into the man's face. The assault had been ugly, there was no grace to his attack but the man was crumpled at his feet. And it was the result that mattered.

"Are you alright?" Blake suddenly wheeled round; the cloak wrapping around his legs once more and to his mortification the voice that had tumbled forth was his own. Not the harsh, gravely tones of the Bat.

The girl nodded, her curly hair bouncing about her face. Roughly wiping away the tears she whispered, "Thanks."

Her words echoed in his head. He knew this wasn't about the glory. This was about saving people, and he had saved her. He had needed to save her just as much as she had needed him.

"What's your name?" John tried again, his voice coming out as more of a growl.

"Lily Stevens."

"Do you want me to take you home?"

Blake didn't know if escorting his rescue-ees back home was what his predecessor had done, but it felt right. The tightness in his chest eased, the anger inside him stayed for a moment.

It wasn't just Lily Stevens that needed the Batman – John Blake did too.

The girl nodded.

* * *

The streets were half obscured by sheets of rain falling thick and fast. Gotham was grey, as clouds rolled across the darkened heavens, the sky offering little joy. The sun's rays barely penetrated through the clouds, half bathing the city in a dull, murky light. Gotham's citizens were desperately dashing across the busy streets in attempt to find cover, to shelter from the oncoming storm.

John shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the water that seemed to cling to his body. Turning up the collar of his jacket the young man dove into the doorway of a small apartment building, several other pedestrians joined him, shaking off their umbrellas and sharing looks of solidarity. The rain was coming down in droves as cars caused small tidal waves as they drove through the standing water.

Blake ran a free hand through his hair, his fingers ran slick with water. From his shelter John could see the glistening tower that bore the name Wayne, checking his watch Blake sighed. Fox left the office every evening without fail at 6pm; it was a rare occasion when he deviated from the schedule.

John eyed the building once more – uncertain of whether he would be welcomed or turned away, Fox laughing at the absurdity of the implication that he had been helping supply the Batman for however many years.

Blake looked down at his watch, as a short brunette brushed up beside him.

"Sorry!" she muttered breathlessly. Pushing a stray lock from out of her eyes she smiled hesitantly at John.

There was something about sharing a stoop in the rain with a complete stranger that made for a bold approach.

"That's alright." John found an easy smile drift across his features. It had been a while, but confronted with the sight of a pretty girl he felt strangely buoyed.

"Horrible weather huh?" the girl grinned nervously. Shaking off the umbrella she glanced towards John, her brown eyes shy.

"Yeah, pretty much." John removed a packet of gum from his pocket; pulling out a stick he placed it in his mouth, relishing the burst of instant freshness. About to return the pack to his pocket he thought better of it and passed the packet in the direction of the girl.

"Gum?" Rarely had the offer for Wrigley's sounded so lascivious.

John suppressed the urge to kick himself, hopefully she hadn't noticed, but the feint rosy hue that crept into her cheeks said otherwise.

"I'm good thanks," her voice wobbled momentarily before she broke out into a nervous smile.

"I didn't mean for that to sound so..." Blake laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. The weight of his watch on his wrist reminded him that he didn't have all day.

"No it's fine..." the girl replied, her voice dancing through several frequencies.

"Its just that it's been a while... Since..." John searched for the words.

"Seriously!" the girl called out, her hand snatching out for Blake's lower arm instinctively. "Stop."

"Right, digging a hole for myself?"

"Oh boy," the girl nodded sagely, her tight curls bouncing about her face.

"Sorry." Blake muttered apologetically, his eyes drifting to the floor.

"Sure taught me not to talk to strangers..." The girl laughed, her eyes darting about, desperate to avoid any sort of eye contact. The monochrome cityscape provided a good enough excuse and distraction from the social gaff that was unfolding around her.

"No, grade school teachers did make a point of that," Blake smiled. "Well I'm a cop, well I used to be... now I sort of just volunteer."

"Volunteer?" The girl replied in spite of herself. When was she going to learn that she wasn't going to meet Mr Right on the evening commute from work? Mr Right would be found after downing several shots of vodka when out on the town, and even then, Mr Right would prove to be Mr Right-till-next-morning.

She had always been a sucker for a pretty face.

"Well, not just that, I work at a boys' home to pay the bills, but volunteering takes up a lot of my time."

"Aren't you a regular do-gooder?"

Blake felt laughter straining at his chest, and soon enough he found himself chuckling.

"You could say that." Glancing back at his watch John shifted his weight, "I have to make a run for it, I was hoping to catch a friend of mine before they got off work."

"Oh, don't let me keep you," the girl grinned. It was a lovely smile, warm and inviting. Her full lips widened around her pearly whites and for a moment she was excruciatingly beautiful, wholly captivating.

Blake gave her a nod before diving across the street, his collar and coat wrapped about his body as he battled through the driving rain. His right foot having just touched the sidewalk he glanced back, the brunette was still stood sheltered on the steps to the apartment.

Glancing back at his watch John sighed, he still had time. The girl was still there, waiting for something. Maybe it was the rain to die out or something else entirely.

"John Blake."

The brunette looked up startled, a wet hand held out in front of her.

"Tamara... Tam," the girl replied as she took John's hand.

"Nice to meet you Tamara," John couldn't help himself, his normally stoic features cracked, a grin almost reluctantly forming across his face.

"You too," Tam smiled again, her cheeks flushing once more.

"Will you be here in 20 minutes?" John asked before his nerves deserted him and rationality prevailed.

"No," Tam answered a little too quickly. "But I will be at the diner two blocks over on Smith."

"Oh?" John's voice raised in question, his eyebrows shooting up and a furrow appearing in his brow.

"I suddenly felt like coffee." Tamara's mouth tugged upwards, her eyes drifting up to Blake's.

Her breath caught in her throat, darkness lurked in John's brown orbs, and an emotion she couldn't quite place danced under the surface. The lines that scarred his face belonged to another: someone older, someone who had seen and felt too much. But for a brief moment and with the smile he gave her, Tam saw an alternate reality, and for the second she was offered a glimpse she wished she could see it again.

"I could do with a coffee," Blake admitted ruefully. "Right, well. I'm gonna go, again."

"G'bye John," Tam offered, her hand raised to give a small wave.

"Bye," John rushed out, before turning on his heel and heading towards Wayne Tower.

* * *

It was with five minutes to spare that John skidded into the marble lined foyer of Wayne Enterprises. At the sight of John the girl at the desk was half way caught between derision and appreciation, Blake straightened out his jacket as he gave her a well-practiced smile.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, her voice shrill.

"Uh..." Blake's cover story flew from his head, he was making rookie mistakes, he just wasn't good enough.

"Samantha, Mr Blake is here to see me, didn't you get the memo?" The innocuous voice of Lucius Fox echoed across the hallway. Removing his spectacles the older gentleman glanced towards the receptionist, his eyes widened, an ambiguous smile gracing his features as he waited for a response.

"Oh, it must have slipped my notice, it wont happen again Mr Fox." Samantha stumbled nervously through her words as she shuffled through various papers on her desk, hoping the 'memo' would miraculously appear.

"Don't worry about it, Mr Blake is an old acquaintance." Fox smiled mildly. "John, if you'd follow me."

Moving to take off his sodden coat Blake sped after the CEO.

"I'd keep that on if I were you," Fox grinned as he walked into an awaiting elevator. Waiting for his companion to join him Lucius hit the uppermost button on the display.

Leaning against one of the mirrored walls Lucius appraised the man in front of him; he was a little slighter than Bruce had been... _Was. _Fox corrected himself. A little shorter too, Lucius wondered how Blake managed in the suit. As John scratched the back of his head, his gaze fixed firmly to the lift doors; Lucius noticed the ripple of muscle. Clearly the kid had been working out, but no matter what he did, he was always going to be of slimmer build. He doubted the general public would notice the difference, not when there were the cape and cowl to distract them.

"Mr Fox," John started.

"Wait till we're outside kid."

No sooner had Fox spoken and the elevator doors pinged open, in front of them a plain corridor, a fire exit at the other end. Motioning for John to follow, Lucius walked towards the fire exit, typing in a code he pressed the bar to open the door. What normally would have been a magnificent vista was somewhat hampered by the low clouds and rain.

"You come up here to think?" Blake questioned suddenly, stuffing his hands into his pockets he tried to steady his racing heart. Fox wouldn't have asked him up here if he didn't know something, hell Fox knowing his name was clue enough.

"Used to, the executive office suite has pretty decent view too."

John nodded distractedly, "I can imagine."

The wind was buffeting him towards the edge, as if urging him to take the leap; Gotham from a distance was like any other city, a glistening pool of hope. But the closer you came, the further you fell and the more you saw it for what it was, a cess pit of humanity.

"Mr Fox..."

"How does the suit fit?" Lucius cut him off, his eyes dancing.

John opened and shut his mouth. He really should have realised that Fox would have made him.

"It's... not great," Blake admitted. "I figure alterations can be made but high school shop is as far as my knowledge goes."

"It's going to take more than a hacksaw," Fox conceded.

"Yeah..." John laughed. "Look I didn't come here expecting anything, but I know when I need to ask for help."

"I'm going to make a visit to Wayne Manor, just to see how Mr Wayne's legacy is holding up..."

Relief flooded John's features, "Thank you."

"Thank me later," Lucius smiled.

* * *

Blake checked his watch, he'd run over the allotted 20 minutes but she still might be there, supping on a solitary cup of coffee. Sure enough as he opened the door he saw Tamara sat in a corner booth, two mugs in front of her, the Gotham Gazette laid out on the table.

"Hi," Tamara beamed, her eyes bright as she took in the form of the still slightly damp John Blake.

"Hi," John returned the smile before his eyes skimmed over the headline: 'The Dark Knight Rises?'

"I got you an Americano..." Tam supplied before folding up the paper to make room.

"Thanks," John replied before tipping sugar and cream into his mug.

"I don't normally do this," Tam whispered, her eyes suddenly fixated on John's cup.

"What, drink coffee?" John teased, his brown eyes meeting hers.

Tamara rolled her eyes; "I don't normally drink coffee with strange men."

"Oh so I'm strange?"

"Maybe you are John Blake - I don't know yet." Tam replied, a small smile hovering at the corner of her mouth.

* * *

**A/N: **I had posted this story earlier but I took it down just to rejig it and alter how I edited the chapters.

Tamara isn't an original character - she's my take on one that appears in the comics.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and please drop me a review telling me what you think!


	2. Not Alone

_"The world doesn't make heroes anymore."_ – Graham Greene

* * *

The pain in his wrist was distracting, the blood that was sloughing off his glove even more so. For a moment he was elsewhere, the crumpled body at his feet was not his doing and he was miles from Gotham. But then the muffled scream behind him alerted Blake to his present situation, it was another two-bit criminal that he had taken down but it didn't matter. Not when the quivering wreck pressed up against the dirty brickwork got to walk through his front door that night and kiss his children goodnight.

Unfurling his tightly clenched first John tried to ignore the ache, despite his heavy gauntlet and having strapped up his wrist, pain seared across his knuckles. The crack that he had rendered against the thug's jaw had been audible, a sharp pain lancing up his arm. With every blow he landed and each hit he took, John knew he would become desensitised, the pain would soon fall away and cease to matter. But for now he would try and ignore each fresh bruise, it was a small sacrifice to make. The pain was negligible and he could never have them see his weaknesses. He was not flesh and blood; he was a symbol – infallible.

"Thank you..." the words were rushed out, the gratitude that radiated from the man was palpable.

John didn't know what to say, this wasn't a 12-year-old girl he felt inclined to comfort, this was a man nearly ten years his senior and words were wind. Instead he chose to nod, his jaw clenched, his eyes hooded.

Gotham had been so close to not needing the Batman, to finally shedding the crime and fear. And Blake could never find it within himself to acknowledge he was thankful for that need. At times he couldn't tell where he ended and where the Bat began. But he never dwelled on it for too long – existential crises he didn't have time for. Yet despite his best efforts, the thoughts niggled and festered.

It was when was faced with beautiful women or life long friends his apparent disconnect would be pulled into sharp relief. He could never quite look at them. Like they were drifting away from him – or maybe it was the other way round?

Yet there were moments, moments when he forgot it all and a connection was forged, all it took was a pair of brown eyes and a wide smile.

As the Batpod roared to life John tried to shake the thoughts that were beginning to take root. He couldn't let them, not when thoughts belonging to John Blake were becoming those of the Dark Knight and vice versa. The night continued to shroud him, and dawn had never seemed so far off.

Speeding into the cave John dismounted, no sooner had his feet touched the ground and he was running towards the computer console, staggering ever so slightly Blake felt his breath rush from his chest. Ripping off the mask John bent over double and wretched. The taste of bile was in the back of his throat; he felt ill, his head swimming. Gripping tightly to the edge of the nearby surgical table he tried to steady himself. But once again his hands grappled at his throat as he tried to pull off the amour that encased his neck and torso.

Soon his hot skin met with cold air and his arms were covered in goose pimples. Running his hand through hair slick with sweat Blake attempted to pull his thoughts together. John withdrew his digits from the mop of hair atop his head before glancing at his hand, the bright red skin stretched across his knuckles served as a reminder of the night's activities. The look of relief across the man's face had said it all, and John knew he had done good work. But something pulled at the back of his head – a darker thought he wasn't wholly comfortable in admitting.

Did he don the suit for the greater good? Or was there something else lurking in the recesses of his conscious. Maybe it was the cold satisfaction he felt wash over him whenever he saw the criminals hit the floor. Blake had become embroiled in Gotham's underbelly and for the life of him he couldn't see a way out; not when there was so much left for him to do, not when he wasn't quite ready to let it go.

Falling to the hard ground John's back rested against the smooth metal of the table, he hissed at the sudden change in temperature. His movement had finally woken his 'cavemates' but the sound of bats taking flight only just reached his ears. Glancing up at the cave's roof Blake breathed in the cold, damp air. Thoughts were still racing through his head half formed. Maybe he was growing, moving on... Developing. Or maybe he was just loosing parts of himself to the man in a black mask.

Then her eyes flashed in front of him, his younger self was reminded of the life he once led. Whilst not entirely free of pain it was somehow less troubled. But then all it would have taken was for someone to scratch the surface, and his fears would bubble forth, the anger that was so well bottled would escape. He wasn't happy, far from it. The need for revenge and absolution was all too strong; a bitter taste in his mouth was all that he knew. There was nothing sweet, nor joyous about what he had become. He was the night, and vengeance was his.

But she was still there, her presence overwhelming – brown eyes and a large smile. An afternoon in a coffee shop was all it had taken. John had been pulled from the tumultuous wave of emotions that more often than not threatened to drag him down. Instead, for a second, he was delivered. But the feelings of elation were soon tempered as the night fell and Gotham screamed.

Staggering to his feet John quickly shed the rest of his armour, he was soon down to his boxers and the sweat stained bandages. Closing his eyes he brushed aside the distractions before pushing off against the table and heading towards the light. Donning jeans and an old sweatshirt Blake glanced at the phone he had stuffed into his pocket. The message icon flashed merrily at him, pressing the various buttons his phone flared to life.

The message he had left on her phone was answered, and for a moment a frisson of excitement jolted through John's chest. He had half forgotten the rules but the game was vaguely familiar. Second guesses and playing it cool were the king and queen of the board and for a while he imagined that his life was what it had been once more

Reaching the surface dawn was only just breaking, he was due at work in 5 hours, there were times when he slept in the cave but bats made for poor company. Flexing his shoulder the vigilante tried to keep his eyes from closing, a heavy ache settled across his shoulders. The adrenaline was all but spent and he was waiting for the comforting embrace of his pillow.

Forcing his legs to pick up the speed John jogged the remaining half-mile to his car, jumping into the drivers seat his hands tightened around the steering wheel. The night's events flashed past his eyes as they so often did when he found himself bathed in light. The sun could just be seen on the horizon and Blake had thoughts of home. But all that would greet him would be an empty apartment and a cold bed.

Looking back at his phone John allowed himself a smile, maybe his life didn't have to just be occupied by shadow and strife. Perhaps there was room for something else, perhaps there was room for a chance of happiness.

Quickly punching out a text John waited for what seemed like an eternity before realising that she probably wasn't going to be awake. Throwing the phone onto the passenger seat John gunned the engine telling himself he could wait.

* * *

His foot was tapping nervously against the floor; the Gotham Gazette was folded neatly and tucked under one arm. It didn't surprise him that she had failed to mention her last name, nor her standing in Gotham's social circles. All that mattered was that he was about to meet a girl. A girl that had a giggle when deployed correctly would have him blushing like schoolboy. He had been reliably informed that he was in possession of a pair of dimples that would have the majority of girls a puddle at his feet, but there was something about _her_.

Maybe it was the smile that lurked around the corners of her eyes; maybe it was her wholly arresting nature. But for whatever reason, Tamara Fox had ensnared a part of him. And for the first time in a long while, Blake didn't have the overwhelming urge to bolt.

Glancing at the paper John felt something tighten in his throat, she belonged to a world utterly apart from his. Blake was fairly certain Tam had yet to realise that he'd discovered her very own secret identify. The one time detective couldn't help but smile, there was no possible way he could be annoyed at her for being duplicitous, not when he routinely covered up his moonlighting as a masked vigilante.

"John?"

As his name slipped past her lips, Tam felt the tension increase tenfold in her chest. She might not have wanted to admit her last name as her relationships always seemed to suffer because of it, but with this small act of dishonesty she could feel her subconscious scratching at her thoughts. Besides, there was the troubling thought that she was the cause of the past breakdowns, her name only incidental.

"Oh, hey!" John turned to face her, an easy smile sliding onto his features. Tam couldn't help but notice the dimples, soft indentations in his cheeks that seemed to perfectly frame his full lips. There was something about a boy with dimples after all, and Tam felt herself flush.

"Hi," Tam was very aware of the heat darting across her cheeks and the pink hue that was no doubt accompanying it.

"Hi." John smiled; they could keep doing this for a while, the repeated exchange of greetings before one of them eventually broke.

"Thanks for meeting me," Tamara's eyes widened in sincerity.

"My pleasure," Blake had removed the newspaper from under his arm and was now scrunching the black print nervously in his hands.

Glancing at the offending article Tamara hid a wince; clearly John had discovered her dirty little secret.

"So, uh... I'm sorry about not saying anything..." the girl shuffled nervously, her hand scratching the back of her head as she forced herself to make eye contact.

"No, it's fine. Really. I wasn't going to mention it, I just needed something to do with my hands..." John petered off. "Nervous!" Suddenly his voice inherited a high-pitched squeak.

"Me too," Tam replied far too quickly as she leaned forward her head almost bumping into his shoulder.

At their sudden close proximity John felt his heart kick against his chest, springing back he cleared his throat with a nervous cough.

"So..."

"I bought us coffee!" Tam suddenly exclaimed, her hands jutting forward, the two Styrofoam cups jostling for dominance. "You take yours black, right?"

"Yeah," John nodded as he accepted the proffered receptacle. "Thanks."

"No problem." Tam smiled.

As they both took sips from their coffees, their eyes locked over the white plastic rims. The moment was oddly intimate, but it was lost as soon as Tam looked away, the hot liquid almost burning her lips.

"So, it's a little short notice, and maybe it's way too early to be asking. But I have this thing tomorrow tonight." Tamara sucked in her breath almost violently as she finally forced herself to keep eye contact with John.

"Does this thing require me to wear a tux?"

"Do you have one?" Tam replied eagerly, confirming Blake's suspicions.

"Funnily enough," John grinned.

Tam blushed, "Sorry, I don't have to bring anyone or anything... But I thought it would be fun."

"S'long as when everyone gets done staring at you, they'll realise it's not a handbag on your arm, but you know, a guy..."

"Staring at me?" Tam frowned, her coffee half way to her lips.

"I didn't mean that in a bad way!" John quickly defended. "It's just that you're quite obviously beautiful, very intelligent and your last name is Fox."

The words hung in the air, before it had been an unspoken truth, now it was out for all to see. Blake mentally slapped himself.

"I really am sorry about the name thing..." Tamara muttered, her brown eyes flicking to her right as a runner flew past her.

"Tam," John snapped almost sharply, his hand snatching out to grab Tamara's arm and bring her round to face him. "What I said was most definitely nothing to do with that, and everything to do with my self confidence."

Tam allowed herself a small smile, "They wont think you're a handbag. At worst you'll be labelled mysterious new man, at best – friend."

"Friend?" For one syllable it was a loaded question.

The girl smiled, her eyes hooded as she glanced up at him coyly. "We'll find out tomorrow night I suppose."

"Pick you up at 8?" John questioned, he could feel the heat radiating off her body and for a second he was almost tempted to kiss her.

"Perfect," Tam smiled. "Now come on, we were supposed to be walking through the park."

* * *

Later that night and Blake was standing vigil over the city. Flashes of Tam kept sweeping through his head, her large smile and open face distracting him from the task at hand. Emotions he thought he had long buried were beginning to flare to life in his chest. Whilst they weren't exactly unwelcome, Batman didn't have a girlfriend. And John Blake rarely managed to keep relationships going for long enough for those types of labels to be used. Was he even capable of sustaining a functional relationship? Did he even want to? Tam's brown eyes were still dancing in front of him. Maybe he could try for her?

Shaking his head John felt the water drip down the back of his neck. The rain was falling heavily and the vigilante's jaw clenched. The mask was still uncomfortable, the cape heavy about his shoulders and he was still consumed by the fear that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. But dawn was creeping across the horizon and for half a minute he didn't think he was entirely alone.

* * *

**A/N:** Another chapter for your delectation! Hope you like it and please feel free to drop me a review - feedback of all kinds is always appreciated!


	3. Acquainted with the Night

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there." -

Sgt Sally Donovan, '_Sherlock'_

* * *

The man sitting at the piano was already beginning to grey; there were deep creases at the corners of his eyes, no doubt left over from the numerous smiles he had given. It looked as if his black dinner jacket had been draped over his thin frame giving the impression his flesh was sagging off his bones. The man's fingers fluttered across the keyboard with a careless ease and with every passing second his playing became more animated but the melody was barely audible over the constant chatter of the crowd. Tamara sighed; reaching for a drink born by a passing waiter she took a large gulp of dry champagne. Wincing somewhat Tam twirled the delicate glass stem between her fingers, admiring the weight of the object in her hand. Walking slowly towards the piano the brunette smiled somewhat shyly at the player, unsure if she would be a welcome intrusion.

"Are you alright Miss?" the musician's voice was soft as he questioned the girl in front of him, his fingers still flowing effortlessly across the keys.

"Yeah," Tam bit back a sigh, wary of betraying too much to a complete stranger. As much as she hated to admit it, she could never be too careful. "Cole Porter?"

"Yes Miss," the pianist smiled.

"You play wonderfully," Tam took another sip of her champagne, this time savouring the bubbles as they tickled down her throat. "Didn't they want you to sing?"

"Not that kind of party," the pianist shrugged carelessly as he played the last few bars of the song. "Any requests?"

"As Time Goes By?" Tamara half laughed her answer. "Do you get that one a lot?"

"Not often enough," the pianist smiled warmly, doing his best to put the girl at ease.

She was the first one after all to pay him any attention. You would be forgiven in thinking that the entire period Gotham served as a private fiefdom to a would be warlord was a bad dream the way the current crowd that surrounded him were behaving. There was nothing of the supposed humility the upper classes had learnt after the occupation of Bane and his reformed League of Shadows. It was as if nothing had changed. A particularly braying laugh shot out across the room and the musician did his best not to flinch. Playing several more notes the pianist sent Tam a sidelong glance.

"If you don't mind me saying, girls like you normally have dates for these sort of things."

"Girls like me?" Tam replied, her eyebrow quirking in question.

"Pretty ones?" the musician hedged. "All I mean is, you don't normally come to these types of parties alone. Don't want to give an excuse for those tongues to start wagging."

"You play a lot of gigs at these parties?"

"Enough."

"So you'll know that the cardinal sin is not in fact turning up without a date. It's being stood up?" Tam ran a free hand through her hair, a wry smile tugging at her mouth.

"So you were stood up?" The musician gave a dramatic sigh. "Tough break kid. I'm sure the bar tender can fix you up with something stronger if you care to drown your sorrows."

"I'll take that under advisement," throwing back the last bit of her drink Tamara readied herself to leave the relative comfort and safety of the piano for the shark infested waters. "I think I'm just about ready to face the onslaught of questions and pity."

"You could always lie?" the man suggested before gesturing with his head towards a figure moving swiftly in their direction. "Besides, it looks like you might not have been stood up after all."

* * *

John fiddled with his tie, after what seemed like hours of tying and retying he was convinced the thing was still crooked. Flecks of raindrops were smattered across his shoulders; having not bothered to wait for valet parking the vigilante had taken his chances in the rain and made a mad dash towards the foyer. It had proved to be an error as he was now slightly damp, his hair falling somewhat annoyingly into his eyes. And after a hurried appraisal of the crowd John quickly surmised this was not the sort of place you turned up to looking unkempt. Running a hand through his hair he attempted to shape it into some sort of discernable style. Brushing down his trousers Blake scanned the ballroom for a familiar face.

He hoped Tamara was still somewhere in the room, he had sent a hurried text two hours ago saying that he'd meet her there. His communication had been met with a curt ok – never a good sign in his books. And when he failed to arrive at the allotted time John was convinced that the girl would have already left. But to his immense relief he caught sight of curly brown hair bobbing by the baby grand. Moving his way through the noisy crowd he soon saw that Tam was sporting a teal coloured dress, her small frame accentuated by the cut of the fabric, her dark skin seemingly glistening under the lights.

Swallowing heavily John tried to shake off his nerves; the sight of Tamara in an exceptionally flattering dress had thrown him. She was undoubtedly too good for him and with that thought the regular insecurities bubbled to the surface. John could feel the blood rush to his cheeks as he was suddenly overcome with embarrassment, smoothing back his hair John cleared his throat. And with those small actions some of his worries were exercised. As if Tamara had sensed Blake's presence, or most probably when the piano player alerted her to his arrival, she turned to face him. A large smile growing across her features, her brown eyes searching for his.

"Sorry!" John exclaimed as he pulled up next to her, his hands automatically reaching out to squeeze her shoulder as a means of apology.

"Don't worry about it," Tam smiled graciously, her eye glinting in the light, either she was pleased to see him or it had something to do with the champagne she had been drinking. Blake liked to think it was the former.

"I should have tried to get out of it," John insisted shamefaced, his fingers were still grazing Tam's shoulders; her skin was cool to the touch. Not that he could have got out of it – pulling the stitches in his right arm from the knife wound he had received the night before required attention. He had sloppily pulled his wound back together and undoubtedly he'd be left with a scar. Not that he could tell Tam this.

Revealing that you dress up as a giant bat was most probably likely to kill any chance of a relationship from developing. Not that he wanted a relationship. Or rather he couldn't have a relationship. John mentally shook himself – he couldn't start having these thoughts. Not when the glaring question of what was he doing was bound to rear its ugly head.

What _was_ he doing? Even if he wasn't trying to save Gotham one victim at a time he wasn't exactly well adjusted. The amount of anger and rage he carried was hardly healthy; in place of his heart there was a gaping wound in his chest. He was broken, that much he knew. And if Tam did become involved she would see it, she would see behind the mask – eventually they all did. Normally he didn't stick around for long enough.

Ultimately it boiled down to how selfish he was. Was he willing to bring another person into his already over crowded headspace?

"Hey, don't worry about it – I've been guilty of a lot worse," Tam offered Blake an easy smile, her hand brushing against his fingertips as she led him into the crowd.

"For some reason I find it hard to imagine you doing anything wrong," John shrugged, a half formed smile tugging at his lips.

"Why's that?" Tamara laughed. Reaching out for another two glasses of champagne she gave a small nod of thanks towards the waiter that had wandered past.

"Well, being a cop you start to recognise certain characteristics in people." John replied.

"What, you can tell if they did it or not?" Tam questioned, a frown creasing her brow.

"Pretty much," John nodded. "Maybe it's all just gut reaction and prejudice."

"What because I'm a woman I couldn't have done it?" Tam shook her head, a snort of derision escaping her.

John laughed sheepishly, "No – a young, attractive woman…. There's a difference."

"There's a difference? Oh please, enlighten me." Tam waved her hand in mock invitation, a glint of a challenge in her eye.

"Juries aren't as likely to convict," John sighed. "Halo effect right?"

"So you're saying I could get away scot free?"

"I dunno, Batman might catch you – he doesn't seem as forgiving as your average jury."

"Batman…" Tam shook her head.

"What, you don't think he's back? Or…" John tailed off, hoping he'd managed to form his face into something that resembled polite quizzicality.

"I…" the brunette sighed. "So, call me crazy, but I don't think the guy that's making the headlines today is _the_ Batman. I mean, I don't think he's the original one."

"You don't?"

"You saw that explosion right?" Tamara shook her head in quiet disbelief. "There's no way you get out of that."

"So then you think its some other guy donning the cape?"

"Yeah," Tamara nodded, her curls bouncing around her face. "So unless Batman had some sidekick waiting in the wings, this is most probably some crazy that's decided to pick up his mantel or whatever."

"He's doing good though," John added hastily. He knew he wasn't going to have everyone on board, but strangely hearing Tam speak against the Batman was hitting too close to home. Something tightened in his chest and the overwhelming urge to win her over surged through him.

"For now," Tam shot back. "We have no idea who he is, maybe he's going round the city saving people because it allows him to beat up everyone else. Maybe one day he'll snap and rather than stopping the killer he'll be the one doing the killing. We have no idea what's motivating him…."

"That was the same with other guy though, right? And he was doing good. Every act he did was to save Gotham, he played the bad guy when we needed someone to blame and he continued to save us when we set the dogs after him. He was everything the city needed him to be and never once did ask for thanks, he never took the curtain call."

"What are the chances we've got another one of those?" Tam questioned. "Lightning doesn't strike twice after all. Besides, as imperfect as the police are, due process and the law have to be followed when it comes to taking down criminals. Otherwise we don't have a leg to stand on. If we have to resort to taking the law into our own hands, what does that make us?"

"The police are ineffectual." John sighed, "Trust me, I know."

"Commissioner Gordon..."

"Is just one man," Blake quickly finished Tam's sentence. Despite Gordon's presence in the GCPD there was only so much he could do for the Force.

"And so is the Batman," Tam smiled wryly.

"Yeah, but he's got a tank and a whole lot of cool gadgets." John offered Tam a carefree smile. "C'mon, you wanna lead me round the dace floor?"

"You dance?" Tam questioned, surprised but somewhat thankful for the change in subject.

"Notice how I said that you'd be the one leading me round?" John replied, laughter dancing in his eyes as his calloused thumb gazed the skin of Tamara's hand.

"Didn't they tell you that the man's supposed to lead?" Tam teased, falling into Blake as she felt his arms wrap around her, the smell of soap and aftershave enveloping her.

"Funnily enough they didn't teach us how to ballroom dance at St Swithun's." Blake shrugged, letting himself be pulled by Tamara into the gently swaying crowds.

"You grew up in an orphanage?" Tamara questioned softly, her brown eyes downcast. "Is that why you help out at the boy's home?"

"Pretty much," Blake nodded. " I always tried to help the boys out, even when I was still a cop."

"Why?" Tamara asked softly, her fingers firming their grip on John's arm and shoulder.

"Guilt, I mean was raised Catholic, so there's a lot of it going round." Blake laughed, shaking his head. "Nah. I got out of there, lived to tell the tale. Not all the boys make it, they age out and cant find real work so they start dealing or whatever. Can you blame them? I can at least try and get them set up with something more legitimate. Before they go so far down that path…"

"You want to help them," Tamara nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. "I've always tried to help people, but I don't know if its because I want to, or think I should."

Tam looked away, unwilling to let Blake see the shame that had suddenly flared up in her eyes. She was being strangely forthcoming with the man and she was unsure where the sudden urge to air her guilty thoughts had come from.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't pretend that I'm not rich. I make the society pages pretty much every day." Tamara muttered, her voice flat – matter-of-fact. "Wealth and philanthropy are kind of a package deal. Every so often I wonder if I'm doing it because some busybody's decided that it's good PR or because it gives me a tax break. When it comes down to it, I feel obligated to do something because I have so much at my deposal. You're not like that, what you took from the system you were entitled to, you don't owe them anything yet you insist on helping. That's what makes you special…"

Was he special? John found himself baulking at the thought. He wasn't donning the costume because he was special. He was doing it because he had to. There was no other way to keep the beast in his chest tamed. This was his version of therapy. He had been constrained by the police force; under the guise of Batman he was given a free rein. There was no such thing as due process; there was no such thing as unreasonable force. He drew the line, he wouldn't kill, but that didn't mean he wouldn't beat them to a pulp.

Blake bit back a shudder – Tam had been right – he wasn't doing this because he was helping people. He was doing it because _he _needed the Batman. There was nothing noble about his cause. He was being motivated by the oldest of sins.

"I think you're being unfair on yourself," John nudged Tamara gently, his hand sneaking up her neck, his thumb coming to rest against her cheek. Doing his best to shake his own toxic thoughts, John concentrated on the girl in front of him.

Despite herself Tamara leaned into John's touch, a small jagged breath escaping her throat.

"And you're selling yourself short."

"I'm really not…" John shook his head in protest.

Tamara laughed, "Did anyone ever tell you that you're incredibly stubborn?"

"All the time," John smiled. The sight of Tamara grinning at him was enough to distract him; he didn't have to think about the Batman right now. He didn't have to consider if he was heading towards a psychotic break. All he had to do for now was look at the girl in his arms.

* * *

Blake glanced nervously at the girl next to him, they had spent the rest of the evening dancing and drinking. Laughing at whatever lame jokes he had attempted to tell her as they ignored the disapproving looks from many of the party's patrons. So it was now that the two sat awkwardly in his car. John had insisted that Tam let her driver go home on the account of his bringing his car.

Shifting awkwardly Tamara reach under her and pulled out an empty drinks carton from between her bottom and the seat.

John coughed, "Sorry about that, I've been meaning to clean…"

"It's fine." Tamara laughed, "You should see my apartment, it's a mess."

John cheeks turned a slight pink, heat creeping quickly up his neck; the fact that he was driving Tam home after a relatively successful date was not lost on him. Of course he wasn't about to presume anything, but the mere mention of venturing somewhere with Tamara alone was enough to have him blushing like a schoolboy.

"If you just turn in here," Tam instructed, her hand pointing towards a multi story car park sitting adjacent to a large block of apartments.

"Do you want me to walk you up?" John asked, doing his best to keep his voice as steady as possible.

"I'm sure I'll be fine." Tamara whispered just as the engine cut out.

"Right, secure block and all." John coughed, scratching at the back of his hand in an attempt to keep himself preoccupied.

"Right," Tamara smiled widely as she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face Blake in the car. "So, good night then."

"Good night," John replied, shifting towards Tam.

Tamara grinned, unable to stop herself. "Night..."

Before he could think any better of it John pressed his lips against Tam's and he only had thoughts of her.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry this has taken me so long to update! Also I hope you don't find that the chapter has too much dialogue in it. Anyway, despite that I hope you enjoy the chapter and please let me know what you think!


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